Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

instincts, and his own sword, a colichemarde with a gold and silver hilt
and a Toledo steel blade, was in his hand in a movement too fast to
follow.
“Get off my ship, Christophe,” Jack said, his voice quiet and
deadly, with none of the lightness he usually had in his tone. “If you
climb down right now, I won’t yell for help and have you shot. It’s the
best offer you’ll get tonight. I’d take it if I were you.”
The moonlight was so bright Jack had no trouble seeing the rogue
pirate’s expression. He flashed his old charming grin. “Jacques! I am
so glad to see you, mon ami!”
“No, you’re not. Not if you still have anything resembling a brain in
your wine-sodden head,” Jack said. “We had an agreement,
Christophe. Remember? You aren’t welcome aboard the Wicked
Wench. Not you, and not your crew.”
Jack flicked a glance to the north, presumably where Christophe
had come from, but there was no trace of La Vipère. “Where is your
ship?” he demanded.
“La Vipère? And my crew?” Christophe shrugged elaborately.
“Jacques, they were ridiculous. It was all a misunderstanding!”
“What was?” Jack casually stepped a foot to his left, so he was
directly between the rogue pirate and the expanse of the weather
deck. He did it by leading with his right foot, and when he stopped, his
right foot was in front and his left foot was behind him, toes turned out,
ninety degrees.
His body was straight, his weight balanced. He didn’t bend his
knees yet, or raise his sword fully, but when he did, he’d be in the en
garde stance.
Christophe wagged his left forefinger at Jack. Jack could see his
eyes—the moon was very bright—and they looked wild, with a strange
glitter. “Jacques, it was really your fault, so you owe me, comprenez? If
you hadn’t switched the stones on me, none of this would have
happened!”
“What happened?” Jack demanded. “Make sense, Christophe!
Where is your ship?”
Christophe shrugged. “Gone, she is gone. My beautiful La Vipère.